The door slid shut behind them and Allara looked around. They had come into a living area which was quite unlike anything she had at home.
There was a large piece of furniture which looked like many chairs put together. But instead of being carved of wood, it was padded with an unknown material which made it look puffy and fat. It was big enough for four or five of her people to sit side-by-side, Allara thought. Or else maybe two of the giant Kindred.
The long, puffy chair sat in front of a fireplace where a low fire crackled softly to itself. Its flames were blue and green instead of red and orange, however, which was strange.
Also odd was the covering on the floor. Instead of rushes, as her people had in poorer homes, or woven mats like they had in the Great Houses, there was a soft, fibrous covering almost like shelken wool over the entire floor. Allara wondered how it would feel on her feet if she took off her shoes—and if Brand would ever let her down.
“I think I can walk now,” she said cautiously, wondering if he would refuse to release her again. “If you are tired of carrying me.”
“I could never get tired of that,” he murmured, giving her that half-lidded smile that made her stomach flutter. “But sure, baby, I can put you down.”
He set her gently on her feet.
“This is…an odd dwelling,” Allara remarked, looking around some more. There were shelves with things on them she didn’t understand. Instruments and ornaments she was afraid to touch.
“Feel free to explore if you want—this is your home now too,” Brand told her. “Or, would you like me to give you a tour?”
“Maybe later,” Allara remarked, thinking there was no use in putting off the inevitable. “Do you have a room of necessity?” Hopefully he did and she could go in and freshen herself some and get ready for what must happen next.
“Oh, you mean a fresher? Sure, sweetheart—through here.”
Allara didn’t comment on this new “nickname” though she did wonder about it. She felt the right side of her chest, where her own heart beat and wondered how a heart could be “sweet?” But it didn’t matter what he called her, she told herself. Soon they would both be dead.
Keeping this grim thought in mind, she tried to keep a blank face as he showed her to the room of necessity, which had many features. There was an extremely odd mirror which showed one from all different sides, as well as a toilet made of a smooth white metal, rather than wood, which warmed at the touch of a button.
The smooth, warming metal was especially nice, Allara thought. She couldn’t count the number of splinters she’d pulled from her backside after using the room of necessity back home.
There was also a wide pool filled with steaming water, which surprised her so much, she almost forgot her murderous intent.
“You…wash your clothing in here?” she asked, pointing to the pool.
Brand rumbled laughter—a pleasant, musical sound which made her forbidden places tingle, much to Allara’s chagrin.
“No, we don’t. That’s a bathing pool—we bathe in it,” he told her.
“You have a whole pool full of warm water just for baths?” Allara could hardly believe it.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Why? How do you take baths on your world?”
“On regular days we go out to the shower house,” Allara told him. “There is a cistern above it to catch the rainwater. You pull the chain and cold water comes down on your head.” She shivered with the memory. “Only on High Holy Days do we heat a cauldron of water and use warm water to bathe.”
Brand frowned.
“Forgive me for saying this, but that sounds like really primitive technology. The Q’ess are a space-faring people—why hasn’t your lifestyle caught up with your advances in science?”
“Our ways of life are not primitive!” Allara exclaimed, stung by his words. “And we do not usually go into the blackness of space. Only a few drive the ships that fly among the stars. They and the other visitors who come from other planets must stay in the Space Port, so that they do not infect the Q’ess with their infidel Songs.”
“I see.” He nodded thoughtfully. “So you did have advances in technology, but you preferred to keep them separate from your normal way of life.”
“It keeps our Songs pure,” Allara said defensively, lifting her chin.
“I think I’m beginning to see why our peoples disagreed in the first place,” Brand murmured. “The Kindred are always looking to innovate and try new things. It sounds to me like the Q’ess like to keep things exactly the way they are.”
“Our people disagreed because you stole away my ancestress!” Allara flared at him. “She was taken away with the understanding that she would be given back after one standard month—but she never came home again! Her Song was forever lost to my people.”
She was suddenly furious at him—at all the Kindred! If they hadn’t stolen her ancestress so long ago, her own life would not be forfeit now. She never would have had to leave her planet and her people to come here and commit a murder in order to satisfy the Blood Feud. She could have had a normal life with a Q’ess husband and maybe even children. But now she must kill and die and all to make up for the evil the Kindred had done three and thirty generations ago—it wasn’t fair.
“Whoa—I’m really sorry.” Brand raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “But that happened a long, long time ago—three and thirty generations, like you said.”
“My people do not forget when a Song is stolen,” Allara said stiffly. “My ancestress was said to have a Song like no other. It is one reason our family is one of the Seven Great Houses.”
“I would like to hear your song sometime, Allara,” he murmured, surprising her. “Would you ever sing for me, do you think?”
“I…do not know.” She was caught completely off guard by the thought of singing for him and some of her anger simply evaporated.
“Women do sing, don’t they, on your planet?” he asked. “Otherwise, why would they be upset about a stolen Song?”
“Well, yes, women sing.” She nodded. “But not to their husbands. Well, except for the song of submission, which they sing after they are bought at the bride auction. But they sing it only in the Song House.”
“Bride auction?” Brand frowned. “What’s that?”
“It is the way women find husbands among the Q’ess,” Allara said tightly. “They are auctioned off when they come of age. When a husband buys a wife, he takes her to the Song House where he sings his song of ownership and domination and she sings her song of submission. Then they are married.”
“That’s your wedding ceremony?” He looked upset for some reason. “You just buy a wife and sing about how you own her?”
“I thought you were going to sing me your song of ownership during the, er, reception,” Allara said, having to think a moment to find the right name. “I was very surprised when your song was not about owning me at all.”
“Because I don’t own you, Allara,” he rumbled, frowning. “Or rather, we own each other now. Which is completely different from me claiming you as a piece of property.”